A Chisinau bus will teach you the city. The Moldovan capital’s network of these vehicles, and its trolleybuses and marshrutkas – the decrepit minivans, unchanged since Soviet days – could take you anywhere, for nearly nothing. Mostly you paid in physical stress. Riders crammed into spaces meant for people half their size; young mothers loaded…
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ESSAY | Don’t Rattle Granny’s Bones – Sharon Kirsch
I am the daughter of a man with a TripTik. You may not know what a TripTik is, or you may understand it to be a triptych, a work of art made up of three panels, often hinged together in a sacred altarpiece. You may be thinking of scenes of the baby Jesus attended by beasts of the field or angels with the faces of men. But what my father possessed was genuinely a TripTik—an itinerary in strip maps held together by plastic rings, enabling the user to flip from one page to the next. My father acquired the itinerary, issued by the Automobile Association, to keep his family safe on the road. He was in that respect a conventional man.
Porridge 